


But Who Could Stay?

by thereweresunflowers



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, Domestic gang, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Much is actually wise, Robin's moody for no reason, emotionally repressed! Allan, no beta we die like Roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweresunflowers/pseuds/thereweresunflowers
Summary: Hurt by the gang's comments on his betrayal, Allan leaves camp for a night, only to directly face the dangers of Sherwood Forest. Luckily, Much is there to help him through.Title from: The Archer by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Allan A Dale & Much the Miller's Son
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	But Who Could Stay?

**Author's Note:**

> Completely inspired by an adorable comment I saw from @chaoticbitheatrekid on tumblr about Allan comforting Much at camp :)
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've ever published, and certainly the first creative writing piece I've written in a while, so please be gentle with me! It was super fun to get back into the writing groove and I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing :)

The gang were scattered across the various bunks and stools in camp, bowls of stew in hand as the afternoon faded to evening, their laughter mingling with the rustling of leaves that made up the ever present background noise of Sherwood Forest.

‘Thank you very much, chef!’ Robin called to Much in between mouthfuls of food.

‘Much, I deeply appreciate your cooking, but you’ve got to stop telling us its chicken when it’s very obviously squirrel,’ teased Will. 

Djaq laughed in agreement. ‘I haven’t seen a squirrel around here for weeks! But you know what I have seen? Lots of ‘chicken’ stew.’

Much huffed amidst the gang’s chuckles. ‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, it is chicken, and you are all just lacking in decent taste buds and squirrel awareness.’

‘I’m sorry my friend, but Allan here has said different,’ grinned John. 

‘Oi, don’t point the finger at me!’ exclaimed Allan.

‘What have you told them?’ Much turned to him indignantly. 

Allan held up his hands up in joking self-defence as he spun a playful cover. ‘I didn’t say anything! They must have misheard me, I didn’t say ‘squirrel’, I think I said ‘quarrel’, you know, because you keep shouting at the traps when they break on you.’

‘Normally you’re decent at lying,’ Will smiled, ‘but that was poor.’

Much pretended to mop up imaginary tears with his dishcloth. ‘It’s just one betrayal after another with you.’

‘Don’t let him see where you gather the blackberries, Much, before you know it the Sheriff will be sending men to poison the bush!’ Djaq quipped.

Allan could feel control on the conversation slipping away from him into a territory he had no wish to explore, but knew he had to keep laughing with them or his discomfort would become too obvious. ‘I’m telling you, I would never spill such important secrets.’

‘Well it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ Robin flashed, eyes snapping to Allan, the amusement present in them moments before now nowhere to be seen. The camp fell silent almost instantaneously, eyes ricocheting between Robin’s hardened expression and Allan’s tensing shoulders. 

Allan stood abruptly. ‘Right. Well. If it’s gonna be like that.’ He took his half full bowl and placed it on the kitchen counter, then walked decidedly out of the camp. 

‘Allan-‘ 

‘I’ll be back later. Just need some air.’ He didn’t look back as he left, but tried to force a smile into his voice. He didn’t know why he was pretending he was fine, why he was trying to absolve them of any guilt they might feel for what they’d said (maybe it was the voice in his head telling him he deserved it). He knew what he’d done, who he’d betrayed all too well – but he also knew how hard he’d had to work to keep the gang safe while he was at the castle. He’d taken every shake and slap Gisborne had given him for playing dumb about the whereabouts of hideaways and the identities of spies, hell, he’d even risked his life for Marian. Not that that seemed to matter to anyone else. He could’ve easily have sold all their information right from the start if he hadn’t cared. But he had cared. And look at where that had got him.

Allan stalked deeper in the forest, blinded in a furious mix of frustration and guilt: he didn’t really care where he was going, and he didn’t really care what happened to him. He’d go back to camp once it was dark, once everyone was sleeping and he could slide back to his bunk and wake up tomorrow to pretend like nothing had happened. Like he’d never been gone. Not that they ever seemed to notice he wasn’t there unless he made a point of it anyway. Good job he’d been the spy really, he supposed, for if it had been anyone else they’d have been missed much earlier, caught more quickly. The sun was setting over Sherwood now, and as it dived lower so did the temperature. He was cold. He was hungry. Should’ve taken the damn bowl of squirrel with him rather than leave it at camp.   
‘I’m not being funny, Allan,’ he whispered to himself, ’but you’re a goddamned idiot.’ 

*

It was properly dark now, he’d been walking for a good few hours. Kicked a good few trees in anger, too. It was probably time to start heading back. The light of the moon wasn’t much to go by, and it distorted his surroundings until old paths became fantasy, tracking his footsteps an impossibility. Great, just great. He’d have to resort to the main road through the forest. Dangerous, but at least he’d know where he was once he found it. He felt for the dagger in his belt. Outlaws clung to the main road like vultures circling a dying animal, but surely his day couldn’t get any worse. What was the point of robbing one man in little more than peasant’s clothing anyway? Luckily the main road wasn’t hard to locate despite the dark – he’d lived in the forest long enough to at least vaguely know where he was at all times. Once he found the path, he stuck to the undergrowth either side of it and followed it as it wound through the wood. There was nothing to be heard apart from leaves crunching underfoot and the whispers of the trees across the way. 

He was scarcely 10 minutes from camp when the dagger entered his side and a rough hand smothered his mouth.   
His first thought was ‘seriously?’, and his second thought was ‘if I’d walked any further they would’ve traced me back to camp.’ His third thought was ‘I should lick his hand.’ His thoughts then rapidly descended into a jumble of survival related jargon; he struggled against his attacker but that only made the dagger still deep in his side cut further. He couldn’t escape.

‘Search him.’ 

He heard a gruff voice give the order, and felt nimble hands dancing in his pockets for anything of value. They wouldn’t find anything of worth in there, he’d left it all back at camp. That, he was grateful for. If he decided to fight back now they’d easily overpower him, it was at least three to one, and he was wounded. Rather badly, by the pain of it. 

‘Well, what is there?’ The gruff voice shouted.

‘Pocket change, spare arrow heads, a dagger,’ another voice replied. Allan cursed inwardly: he’d liked that dagger.

‘A dagger? Very lovely. We’ll be keeping that. Not that you’ll be missing it much, of course.’ The voice was hot against the side of his head.   
A pair of hands rose to his neck, pulling at his collar to investigate anything hidden under his clothing. No, god, not his neck– He struggled away desperately, eyes widening to ensure he could still see what was happening, desperately trying to quell the flashbacks to a rope around his throat, a hood over his head, dangling, suffocating– He felt the string with his tag on snap as the hand by his neck drew roughly away, and he fought to control his breathing.

The gruff voice came again, he was inspecting the tag. ‘Well, what have we here… not just another outlaw, but one of Robin Hood’s. Him and his men won’t be so merry when they find your body here in the morning, will they?’ 

So they were definitely planning on killing him. Great. He couldn’t overpower them, couldn’t blag his way out of it, and they were going to kill him. Play dead: that was the only trick he had left. Fighting every instinct, he let himself go loose in his attacker’s arms, forcing himself to close his eyes and leaving the man to take his weight. He heard him huff as he struggled to hold him up, then dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. 

‘Not just a coward, but a weakling too. Didn’t even try to fight us. Probably all those morals Mister Hood teaches, eh? Well, made it easier for us, lads. We won’t get much else from him and there’s blood on his clothes I couldn’t be bothered to clean if I took em.’ 

Well thank God for that, thought Allan. It would be a bit awkward returning to camp naked. 

‘Let’s go.’

His tag was thrown to the floor next to him. The dagger jerked from his side and he felt wet, warm blood slide from the wound. As soon as he thought the coast was clear, he clamped his hand over it to try and stem the flow. The wound didn’t feel wide, but it seemed deep. And now he really was cold, the freezing ground reaching into his bones and chilling them quickly. He had to move, stand, or the others would actually find his body here tomorrow. He wondered what they’d say if he did die: ‘here lies Allan, our most disloyal friend. In fact, for a while, he was our enemy. Why did we even keep him around? Anyway, let’s hope he rests in peace.’   
Damnit, no. He wouldn’t die with his betrayal for a eulogy. He struggled to his knees, vision blurring into an orange and yellow fuzz. Deep breaths. He got to his feet, hand still on his side as he began to stagger his way towards camp. He’d find some bandages, wrap the gash up and pray it healed quietly. Hopefully he didn’t wake anyone up as he rifled through the medical supplies. 

The camp had just come into sight when he saw a figure running towards him. Not another ambush, surely? Before he could explain that he’d already been robbed and stabbed once tonight, the man in front of him came more into focus.

‘Much?’ he asked, stumbling forward. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘I heard shouting,’ Much said. ‘Are you alright?’ 

Wasn’t that quite the question. 

‘Shouting? Nah, are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?’ He hoped Much couldn’t tell how pained his laugh was in the moonlight. He didn’t know why he kept acting like he was okay when he wasn’t, but there didn’t seem to be much going back now.

‘Yes, I’m pretty sure… weird.’ Much muttered to himself, then seemed to realise who he was talking to.

‘Allan! You’re back! I’m glad. You really shouldn’t stay out so late, it’s dangerous.’ No shit.

‘Yeah, well. I didn’t want to disturb you lot with my untrustworthy presence.’ It came out a little sharper than he intended, and he felt Much wince at his comment. He glanced to the ground, partially from the stab of guilt he got from seeing his friend saddened, partially from the literal stab wound still in his side, dizzying him with blood loss. ‘I’m sorry-‘

‘Don’t be. Look, why don’t we go and sit on the surveillance platform, that way we can talk and not wake any of the others.’

‘Sure.’ 

He went to walk forward again but had to stifle a curse drawn from the fierce pain in his side. Luckily, Much didn’t seem to hear as he ambled towards the ladder. Dammit, the ladder. There was nothing else to do, he’d just have to grit his teeth and climb it. He pulled himself up, black spots dancing a violent tango before his eyes amid the night as he battled to clamber to the next rung. Knowing that pausing would only show his pain, he hauled himself to the next rung, then to his feet, managing only to sway slightly as he made it up. He was glad it was dark, that his brown jacket meant his blood couldn’t be seen too easily on it. He sat down heavily next to Much, panting from the exertion of climbing the ladder without blacking out. 

Much wasn’t completely oblivious though. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Mate, I’m fine, seriously.’ 

Much didn’t look convinced, but seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind. Matters of what had happened at dinner. ‘I-‘ He sighed. ‘I’m not good with apologies Allan. And I mean, you really messed up when you sold our secrets to Gisborne. And then worked for the Sheriff.’

‘Are you trying to make me feel better?’ 

Much huffed. ‘Let me get there! What I’m trying to say is that everyone in this camp has made mistakes. Robin, he thinks of the King too much. John, not enough. Will has a wicked temper, I am too quick to judge, I know – and your mistake was lying, and leaving. But we forgive everyone else their mistakes, and we don’t forgive you.’ 

‘Well, it was a pretty big mistake.’ Allan sighed, forcing down the lump quickly rising in his throat. ‘None of your mistakes betray your only mates. My only mates, who now stop talking when I walk into the kitchen for fear I’ll tell someone where they keep the food, who look at me everyday like they’re never sure whether I’m trying to help or sabotage-‘ His voice broke and he stared away in shame. God, he was tired. 

‘Hey, don’t stop yourself from crying, I know that look. I’ve seen it on Robin enough times and it’s never done him any good.’ 

Allan felt a hand on his shoulder. Usually he’d pull away, unsure how to respond. But he was exhausted and bleeding and Much’s hand was a comfort; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been consoled so tenderly. It was easily months before his spell in the castle. Before it all went wrong. He broke, then, tired of trying to retain the dam he had built over the past year. The fear, the frustration, the loneliness. The guilt. Dark, guttural sobs fell against Much’s shoulder, each one sending spiking pains through Allan’s side, but he was too distracted to really care. Much’s hand spun comforting circles against his back as he cried himself out. 

Eventually, he managed to whisper against the coarse material of Much’s jacket: ‘I just keep thinking, every time I look in someone’s eyes and I see betrayal there, I always think, what if I’m just a bad person? I’m the one person here who would betray their mates for a bag of coins. The weak link.’ 

Much sighed with a sad smile. ‘Oh, Allan, do you not think I wouldn’t give the location of the camp up in a second if someone threatened to hurt Robin? And I’m pretty sure if it was between us or Marian, Robin would choose Marian in an instant. You’re not the weak link, Gisborne just knew how to get to you.’ 

‘Hhhmpf,’ Allan croaked, wanting to believe Much’s words but still failing to. 

‘And I don’t think a truly bad person would have protected the people who failed to give him a second chance even when he it endangered him. I don’t think he would’ve come back and waited quietly for forgiveness rather than demanding it. A bad person wouldn’t be crying with guilt and making a snotty mess on my best jacket right now.’

Allan let out a half laugh at that, wiping his eyes. ‘Thanks, mate.’ 

Much glanced at him, a little sorrowful. ‘So basically, I’m sorry. For not forgiving you sooner. For the jokes getting out of hand, and the others taking their anger out on you.’ 

‘Thanks.’ Allan shed a watery smile. ‘And, um. I’m sorry for the lying. And the leaving.’ 

‘Apology accepted.’ Much smiled.

‘Phew, did I just get an apology from Much of Bonchurch, sovereign of Sherwood?’ Allan teased. But Much didn’t let him diffuse the sincerity of the situation. 

‘Yes, you did.’ He said sincerely. ‘But Much of Bonchurch, sovereign of Sherwood also thinks the person you really need forgiveness from is yourself.’ 

Allan blinked. ‘Cor, that’s a bit deep.’ 

‘Then look me in the eyes and tell me it isn’t true.’

Allan looked right at him. ‘I– ‘ He closed his mouth.

‘Knew it. I knew it.’ 

‘Oi,’ Allan laughed, giving Much a friendly push that quickly escalated into shoves back and forth, horseplay that Allan could deal with until Much dug into his side and he couldn’t take it anymore; he hissed out in pain. Much pulled his hand away to find it streaked red with blood.

‘You are hurt!’ He said, appalled. 

Allan reckoned he’d just openly sobbed on Much’s jacket, he might as well carry on and admit what’d happened in the woods. ‘Well, turns out the forest is pretty dangerous at night and I did get stabbed in the side-‘

‘STABBED IN THE SIDE!’

‘Shush it will you, you’ll wake everyone up!’ 

‘Why didn’t you tell me! God, you are frustrating, either talking too much or not enough, really, man, you’re ridiculous. Lay down right now and let me get the bandages– ‘ 

‘Much, I’m fine– ‘

‘No, you are very much not fine. Hush, clamp a hand over the wound, lie down, and let me sort it out. And I bet it’ll be me wiping the blood off this damned floor too, huh?’ 

Allan chuckled to himself despite the pain as Much jumped down the ladder and went to fumble around in the kitchen for the right supplies. He stared to the sky, back resting against the wooden planks so carefully assembled by Will, and so gratefully used by the rest of the gang. Sure, things were a little rocky at the moment. And it looked like he might be out of action for a while now too – but at the same time, he had his home back. He had friends, and in time, perhaps he’d have friends who trusted him. The stars were bright tonight. He thought of his brother, who’d run out of time before he could be given a second chance. If he turned his head, he could see the gang scattered across the bunks, half covered in furs and blankets with leaves in their sleep-mussed hair. Will was snoring softly. Maybe the gang hadn’t be able to save his brother, but as Much came back with a soothing poultice and bandages thrown over his shoulder, Allan knew they’d be able to save him.


End file.
